King Peter, Magnificent One, and Edmund the Dazed
by Rose and Thorn
Summary: When Calormene dignitaries arrive, Peter and Edmund try to evade the persuasive tactics of their youngest sister. Edit: Chapter eight- Stirring Solos and Flying Tubas - has been posted.
1. Older brother persuasion

**AN:** My second Narnia fic. I had fun writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. I'm not quite sure, however, if I should have put this under humour. Ah, well, it's done now.

Reviewers shall be lauded and showered with electronic muffins.

**Edit note: **My thanks go to Lady Jill Pole (my first reviewer) for spotting my mistake and reviewing. Calormen is certainly not Carlomen as I thought. It has been rectified. :)

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Wish it was. It all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

* * *

" Suuuusan!"

Shrill and sweet, Lucy's voice echoed around the shadowed halls.

" Suuusan!"

Edmund heard it, locked in his study, and privately vowed not to emerge until his older sister (or brother) was found. When Lucy was elected to greet visiting dignitaries (a job she hated), she almost always got out of it by her special talent of older sibling persuasion. Innocently widened eyes, softly pouting lips and a sorrowful expression always worked on someone. Usually Peter.

Was it any wonder then, that on a beautiful sunny day, the younger king sat, moping, behind a large atlas. A sorry fate, indeed, but infinitely preferable (in his mind) to the torture of listening to countless flatteries and endless tributes on a stifling day. It was a sentence worse than death to an active young lad like Edmund.

Well, he was usually active. Today, warm and rather drowsy, it was not long before his head dropped with a _thump _upon the table and the heavy atlas fell from senseless hands. The only sound which disturbed the quiet was his soft breathing and the faint cries of: " Edmuuuuund!" which now resounded around the castle.

Let us leave him there for the moment and cross to Peter, High King, Magnificent One, who is looking slightly flustered and not at all pleased as he surveys his youngest sister's pleading face.

" Come on, Peter! Pleeease?" Peter scowled.

" No, Lu. I'm busy. Er, um, Orieus said I needed extra training in defence. I really am sorry. Why don't you ask Susan to help you?" Peter was obviously now very desperate. Dropping his own sister into the path of trouble was not something he would normally do with a good conscience. Desperate times, however, call for desperate measures. He would worry about Susan later.

" Susan's busy hanging drapes and sorting the pretty linen from the hideous. And don't be stupid, Peter," she continued, smiling wisely, " you know full well that Orieus left not two hours ago to strengthen the western borders."

Peter sighed, admitting defeat.

" Very well, then," he groaned. " Who are the dignitaries?"

" You don't know?" Amusement flickered into Lucy's blue eyes.

" No, I don't," Peter snapped, brushing an anxious hand through his blonde hair. " Who is it?"

" They're from Calormen," Lucy admitted, voice low.

All Peter's calm went out the window. " Ca-lor-men!" He shrieked, and as he shrieked his hand went flying, knocking a bust of himself off its pedestal. The crash combined with his yell was deafening. Edmund, in his study, jerked awake and toppled off his chair. Alarmed, and still slightly dazed with sleep, he grabbed his sword and ventured from safety.

Meanwhile, Peter, the Magnificent One, stared dolefully at what remained of the bust. He shot Lucy a this-is-all-your-fault look, which she successfully parried with her classic don't-blame-me-you-moron glare. They could have continued this battle of stares for a full ten minutes more if his royal Highness, King Edmund the Dazed, had not made his appearance. Sword-waving and bleary-eyed he darted into the room with the fierce battle cry of:

" For Narnia and Aslan!"

Lucy blinked rather rapidly, while Peter's mouth formed a perfect O.

" Ed?" The latter ventured.

Edmund, suddenly realising where he was and what he was doing, dropped his sword and smiled sheepishly.

" Hullo Peter, Lucy. Fine weather we're having." Lucy was not to be put off so easily.

" Where have you been?" she asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. " I was looking for you."

Edmund raised himself to his full height and tried to look impressive.

" I was studying," he said, loftily. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

" On a Saturday?" she asked, with a smirk. " Admit it, Ed, you didn't want to see the dignitaries."

" And why should _I_?" he asked, pointedly. " It _is_ your turn, you goose."

Lucy's eyes brimmed with tears. " Because I- I - I thought I had brothers who cared about me. Who didn't want to see their little sister cooped up in a stuffy room on a glorious day. Who - who -"

_Sniff. Sniff._

Peter dashed forward, assuming protective elder brother mode instantly. Edmund, slightly mortified for making Lucy cry, edged closer.

" There, there," Peter said, kneeling down to Lucy's level and wiping her tears with the edge of his sleeve. " I'll see to the Calormene dignitaries. And so will Ed."

Edmund, who had been nodding sympathetically, instantly frowned and looked affronted.

" He-will-not," he said, through gritted teeth. " He'd rather die."

" Ed." Peter's tone was final.

* * *

Several hours and two headaches later, Peter and Edmund sat in the younger king's study with the door locked.

" You know," remarked Peter, " it wasn't all that bad."

" Not all that bad," huffed Edmund, rubbing his temple dolefully, " Oh-my-brother and Oh-the-delight-of-my-eyes you must be joking. If I ever have to sit through another ream of Calormene poetry I'll do something drastic. Honestly Peter, so many words coming out of their mouths! I'm only surprised that it didn't spout from their ears, too."

Peter, on the verge of laughing, was stopped by the same sound coming from the other end of the room. Both kings turned.

" Suuuuuusan!" They cried, unconsciously mimicking the sounds of the morning.

" Hello," Susan laughed, with a slight bow of her head. " How are you faring, brothers?"

" How long have you been here?" Edmund demanded.

" Ever since you left. The door was wide open, you know. And, as you're the only person with a key, I decided it was the safest place to hide, being the only lock that Lucy hasn't yet learnt to pick."

" But she wasn't looking for you," Peter said bluntly.

" True, but I wasn't sure if she would be able to convince you two to take her place."

" Peter's fault," Edmund said, his tone flat.

Silence.

" Next time Lucy asks, I'll be deaf and dumb," Peter said suddenly. Edmund nodded.

" Agreed, brother. I fully agree."

Susan only smiled. She knew her siblings too well to doubt that the next time Lucy called, both boys would come running. Lucy was well versed in older brother persuasion.

* * *

Please review. You'll make my day (or night, as the case may be).


	2. Braces Trump Bubbles

**An:** When I wrote this story it was nothing but a one-shot... and then, somehow, I ended up with this chapter. Now more chapters are shaping in my head.

I have no idea where the idea for this chapter came from. It just wanted to be written, and I complied. Blame the plot bunny.

No Susan in this one, poor dear, but she will be in the next one. If I write another one... it depends on the reviews.

That said, please review. I love feedback. It inspires me and encourages me to continue writing.

Enough with the Author's notes. On with the story!

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. It all belongs to a genius of a man who is, unfortunately, dead.

* * *

It is a universally acknowledged truth that older siblings must help and tolerate those siblings younger than themselves. Peter accepted this knowledge solemnly, Susan accepted this knowledge gracefully, Edmund did not accept it at all.

" You know full well what a nuisance Lucy can be, Peter," aforementioned youth complained to his older brother one autumn day. " Whenever I want to do something _alone,_ she's there, at my elbow, going on and on about Heaven knows what."

" I could almost say the same about you," Peter observed dryly, as he flipped through a thick volume of Narnian history. " I thought you loved Lucy."

" Come now, Peter, is that fair? You know I love her - we all do. But sometimes, well, let's just say that my generous and easy-going nature can only take so much prattle."

" Edmund, let me make two things clear. One, Lucy never prattles. Two, since when have you displayed signs of a generous or easy-going nature?"

_Thump._

Peter looked up with an injured air as his younger brother handed him back his Narnian history.

" Really, Ed, was that necessary?" Peter's tone matched his air.

" Yes," was the curt answer.

Peter, breathing in deeply, was on the point of a scathing reply, when Lucy poked her head in at the door.

" Edmund, will you go riding with me?" she asked.

" No." Edmund's tone was harsh. Harsher, perhaps, then he intended it to be.

" Why not?" Lucy's voice quivered slightly, as she fixed large blue eyes on her brother's face.

" Busy."

" Doing what?"

" Arguing with blondie."

Peter did not appreciate the nickname. Rising from his chair, he gave his brother a loud cuff to the back of the head.

" Be nice to Lucy, Edmund," he admonished.

" Shan't." Edmund sounded like a spoilt child.

" Be nice."

" No."

"Ed," Peter said, his voice taking on its no-nonsense tone. " Do I have to force you to go riding with your sister?"

" Why don't you go with her then?" Edmund parried.

" I have very important duties to attend to."

" Oh, yes, I'm sure the kingdom will fall apart if you don't have your bubble-bath at three O' clock."

Peter glared.

" Who told you?"

Edmund gaped.

" You mean it's true?"

Peter, his face a brilliant shade of red and purple, stammered: " N-no... I mean... No, of course not. Little joke. Erhem. That isn't that point. Either you go riding with Lucy or I proclaim to the world that you wear braces on your tights."

" Is it my fault if the dryads made them three sizes too large?"

" Don't skirt the issue, Edmund."

" And Narnia isn't the world."

" It's close enough."

It was Edmund's turn to glare.

" To think the High King should resort to blackmail," he sneered, pulling self-consciously at that offending item of clothing. " Fine. I'll go riding with Lucy. I'll listen to her prattle. I'll even refrain from suffocating you while you sleep tonight. If I do all that will you leave me alone for at least a week?"

" If you don't mention the bubble-bath to anyone I'll leave you alone for a month," bargained Peter.

" Done."

With a shaking of hands and another bout of glares the deal was sealed.

" Now then, Lucy," Peter began, turning to the door. His sister was not there. " Lu?"

" Must have left when we were arguing," said Edmund, flopping back down into his chair and picking up the book of Narnian history. " Oh well."

" Go find her."

" Why?"

" One word - braces."

" Another word, Peter - bubbles."

" Braces trump bubbles. Go find her." There was that no-nonsense tone again.

The Just King departed in a fine temper, softly vowing under his breath to make Peter - or those Dryads - pay. With an occasional tug at his tights (why were they bothering him now?) he began scouring the rooms and halls. Finally it dawned on him to check the only place he had not yet explored - her bedroom.

She was there, of course, sitting by the window humming a Narnian lullaby. She did not look up as he entered, but continued her song. Edmund wondered (not without a glimmer of hope) if she was ignoring him.

" Um, Lu," Edmund said, sidling in and sitting opposite her in a large rocker. " I'll go riding with you."

More Humming.

" Fine!" Edmund stood and huffed towards the door.

" I wouldn't want to disturb you with my prattle," Lucy blurted out, stopping her song abruptly.

Edmund paused, his hand on the door, and spun around.

" Your prattle?" he asked, feigning innocence while trying to ignore the redness of his ears.

" Yes, the one which makes me a nuisance."

Edmund's blush spread along the back of his neck.

" I didn't really mean it, Lucy. I was just joking."

" You sounded awfully convincing to me." Lucy's tone up to this point had been one of levity. It now became hurt and slightly angry. " Do I annoy you that much?"

Edmund, inwardly cursing Peter, sat beside Lucy on the window seat and tweaked her nose.

" I'm sorry, Lucy. You know what a grump I can be _sometimes."_

Lucy smirked.

" Only sometimes?"

" Alright, a lot of the time. Anyway, the point is this. Even though you're prattle does annoy me if I'm in a bad mood, I much prefer it to Peter's tales of heroism. Now, those really get on my nerves."

" And you don't mind my prattle when you're in a good mood?"

" No, I rather like it."

" You're a good brother, Edmund."

" I know."

They lapsed into silence.

" Edmund," Lucy said suddenly, " when I was leaving I heard something about bubbles. What was that about?"

Edmund smirked mischievously. His deal with Peter went out the window.

" You must be silent as the grave if I tell you, Lucy. Promise?"

" Cross my heart."

Whisper. Snicker. Whisper. A plan was formed.

Later that day, at precisely three O' clock, a Magnificent king strutted towards his bathroom and shut the door. A knock sounded instantly. Aforementioned king opened it. Puzzled, he gazed left and right, seeking the knocker. No-one. He was on the point of closing the door when a neat little package, complete with note, caught his eye. He picked it up off the floor.

Dear Peter, (the note read)

Enclosed you will find a small bottle of the bubble-bath Su and I use. It's called Fragrance of the Flowers. I hope you find it useful.

Your sister,

Lucy.

P.S. I often wondered what made you smell so sweet.

Lucy.

And, while Peter fumed, a brother and a sister exchanged a high-five around the corner.

* * *

Like it, hate it? Let me know.


	3. Dancing Blues

**AN:** Well, here it is, chapter three. This made me very frustrated and very cross as I find Susan very difficult to write. My apologies if it is a little dull.

Many thanks to all those who reviewed my previous chapters. It means the world to me.

Reviewers shall have my eternal gratitude.

Disclaimer: Not mine. It all belongs to a guy who I admire and respect too much to steal from.

* * *

Susan stood in the dining hall, hand on hip.

" Peeeeter!" she called, her voice calculated to carry long distances. " Edmuuuuund!"

Peter, snoozing on his throne, snapped awake and fumbled clumsily for his sword. He drew it from its sheath and listened intently.

" Peeeeter!"

With a groan, the High King realised that it wasn't a lethal enemy, as he had at first suspected. It was worse. Much worse. For the past two weeks, Susan had joined with the fauns in plotting a cruel and unusual form of torture for his and Edmund's especial benefit. The bane of any self-respecting lad: dance lessons. Peter shuddered at the mere thought and, without a trace of kingly dignity, resorted to cowering behind his throne.

" Edmuuuund!"

Edmund heard the call from his position in the Royal Pantry and immediately dropped the tarts and pastries he had been in the process of pilfering. Terror overtook his courageous heart as he looked for a means of escape. The door was out of the question. Who knew what dangers lurked behind it? And there were no windows, save one, in the pantry. This window was so high up, and so small, that Edmund felt it to be impossible. But even the impossible must be attempted before he succumbed to the evils of the waltz. Breathing in deeply, Edmund placed a chair against the door and turned to face the daunting task of scaling the wall.

Lucy heard the call and, unlike her brothers, sallied forth to meet the enemy head on. She wasn't called the Valiant for nothing, you know.

" Hello, Susan," she said cheerfully, falling into step beside her royal sister, who was steadily pacing. " Did you lose something?"

" Someone," was the dark reply. " Actually, two boys who shall rue the day they missed my dance lesson."

" Again?"

" Yes. Again."

" Where do you think they're hiding this time?"

" At a guess, Lucy," said Susan, wrinkling her nose slightly, " anywhere that I am not. Honestly, why do I even bother trying to civilise them?"

" Because you're a darling older sister and love them very much?"

" I don't love them very much at the moment," Susan responded dryly. " Ah well," she continued," I suppose I shall have to cancel the lesson for today. It's getting late."

As if by magic a dishevelled High King appeared at the door.

" Hullo, Susan," he said casually, ignoring the look of frustration shot his way. " Were you calling me?"

Oh, his innocence was disarming. Susan, however, was still on the warpath.

" You know full well that I have been calling you for the past hour," she said, angrily cuffing him upside the head. " Where have you been?"

Peter's eyes widened considerably.

" You were?" he asked, his tone one of confusion. " I'm sorry, Su, but you know how busy I - I -" he trailed off, suddenly realising that his sister wasn't buying any of it. " I hate dancing," he finished lamely, trying (and failing) to look fierce.

Susan scoffed. Lucy giggled.

" You have no refinement at all," the former scolded, hand on hip. " You know it is the King's responsibility to dance at all balls and ceremonies. No wonder Calormen is confident that Narnia is a land of barbarians."

" Hang refinement," muttered Peter, slouching into a chair. " Banish balls and ceremonies. Ignore Calormen."

" You're talking nonsense, Peter!"

" Am I?" challenged Peter. " I think I'm making perfect sense. Don't you, Lu?"

" Well, I -" began Lucy, before Susan interrupted:

" Don't you dare bring Lucy into this, Peter. It is your duty."

" Hang duty!"

Susan's bottom lip quivered. Large tears formed in her blue eyes.

" Forget about it then," she cried. "Forget about how foolish you'll look when that Duchess' daughter from Archenland pays us a visit. "

Peter wavered. Whether it was Susan's piteous look, or the threat of being the butt of jokes in Archenland for years to come, will never be known. He simply sighed, straightened his crown, and got to his feet.

" Fine," he said, with all the good grace he could muster. Clasping his hands in front of him, he said, with a tragic air:

" Take me away."

Susan smiled. Tears vanished, leaving clear, sparkling eyes. She took Peter's arm and Lucy's hand and led them from the room.

" After all," she said, " there's still a good too hours before sunset."

Peter groaned.

***

While Peter is caught in Susan's, ahem, clutches, let us see how Edmund is faring.

_Oomph!_

That is the sound of a Just King struggling to escape from a small window not intended for anything, save ventilation.

With his head and shoulders on one side of the wall, and his hind-quarters on the other, Edmund Pevensie was in a bit of a pickle. No matter how hard he struggled, the small boy could not dislodge himself from this embarrassing and uncomfortable position. Two broken jars of jam testified to his struggles.

" Your Highness!"

That is the sound of the laundry maid, Flora Rabbit, discovering the crestfallen face and shoulders of a mortified king.

" Greetings, Lady," said Edmund, addressing her in as formal a manner as he could muster. It is very difficult to be courteous when one is in so uncomfortable a position. " Did you lose something?"

" No, Majesty."

" I have."

" And what is that, Your Highness?"

" My dignity."

" Oh." Flora Rabbit blushed and edged slightly closer. " May I call assistance?"

An image of a furious Susan, a twinkling Lucy and a snickering Peter flashed before Edmund's eyes. he sighed, defeated.

" Yes please -"

" Flora, your Majesty."

" Thank-you, Flora. That would be a great help."

The rabbit scampered off, leaving poor Edmund to mentally reason within himself how much fun his siblings would get out of his current predicament. It was not a cheering thought.

***

" One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two - Come on Peter, you can do better than that. One, two, three. One, two - Ouch!"

Susan grasped her aching foot. " You did that on purpose!" she cried.

Peter, sore and flustered, stumbled into a small chair. He leaned back and glared at his younger sister.

" No I didn't," he wheezed. " I told you I hated dancing!'

" I can see why," said Susan, gliding into another chair with careless grace, " you're simply terrible at it. Didn't anyone tell you the difference between your left and right foot?"

" Maybe he has two left feet," Lucy piped up.

Peter directed a sour look in her direction.

" And maybe -" he began.

" We should call it a day," finished Susan, terminating a splendid quarrel between her brother and sister.

" A very good suggestion," said Peter cheerfully. The end of a dance lesson always had the effect of putting him in fine spirits. " Why don't we go find Ed and congratulate him on missing Su's dance class."

" Oh, grow up, Peter," snapped Susan.

Peter wisely offered no retort.

" Yes," cried Lucy, breaking a silence. " I was wondering where Edmund has been all day. Poor dear, he must be feeling terribly ignored."

" I'm sure he's feeling dreadful," sniggered Peter.

The creaking of the large door at the end of the hall interrupted Susan's reply to Peter's impertinence. Indeed, it rendered all the siblings speechless.

At the end of the hall stood Edmund, a frightful scowl on his face. His tights and tunic were torn and covered in mud and jam. Stalking to where his siblings stood, frozen in shock, he sat cross-legged on a small table and glared them down.

" What are you staring at?" he demanded.

Peter blinked and recovered the power of speech.

" Wha - what happened?"

" If you think I'm going to tell you, Peter Pevensie, you must be madder than I thought," snapped Edmund. And that is all the siblings ever got out of their brother on the subject.

It all came out, of course, by virtue of Cair Paravel's gossip chain. The faun and badger that Flora had asked for aid seemed to think it a good joke, and recounted it to all who would listen.

As it turned out, Edmund had been a good deal more stuck then was first suspected. It was only when the badger pulled from the front and the faun pushed from behind that he was dislodged and went sailing through the air, finally coming to rest in a delightful hole of mud.

When his brother and sisters heard of it, they acted as befitted their natures. Peter teased him mercilessly, Susan was sympathetic (trying her best to hide her twinkling eyes), and Lucy thought it a good joke.

The next time Susan called her brothers for a dance lesson, they came very promptly. Edmund, for one, was a reformed character.


	4. Queens Do Not Get Pimples

**AN:** Another Susan-centred (or is it Edmund-centred?) chapter. I'm on a roll. This chapter is dedicated to all of you who suffer at the hands of a younger sibling, or, as in my case, younger _siblings_. You have my sympathy.

Reviews and Reviewers are loved to death.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Wish it was.

* * *

Queens do not get pimples.

Isn't that a rule?

Queens must be gentle, valiant, graceful, dignified - _blemish_-free.

Is it any wonder then, that on a beautiful sunny morning a Gentle Queen was sitting in her chambers, staring dolefully at her reflection in a gilded mirror?

Susan wasn't vain - far from it. She just wasn't sure if she would be able to stand Edmund's incessant teasing. The pimple was big - no, scratch that - it was _huge, _and the Gentle Queen knew it would provide ample fodder for Edmund's twisted sense of humour.

She wished, not for the first time, that he would grow up.

Staring at her reflection, the young girl touched the bump. It throbbed painfully, causing the tears to start to her eyes. She couldn't face the court _and_ Edmund - it was asking too much of any mortal. But duty was duty, and no matter how unpleasant the task, she had to go through with it.

* * *

Peter, Edmund and Lucy were seated in the dining room, patiently waiting for their sister to make an appearance. Well, Peter and Lucy were waiting. Edmund, grinning mischievously, was making short work of the food.

" Edmund!" chided Lucy, snatching a muffin from his grasp. " Wait for Su!"

" Can't," was the muffled reply, as Edmund stuffed a boiled egg into his mouth.

" You can and you will," Peter said, thumping a choking younger brother on the back. " Really, Ed, you aren't starving."

" Need. More. Sausage." Was the only reply he received.

"Ed!" Peter and Lucy cried in unison.

" Well, you weren't dragged to bed without supper," stated Edmund, his voice regaining clarity after a swig of orange juice.

" And whose fault was that?" demanded Peter.

" Yours."

" M - Mine?" Peter spluttered, pushing his chair back and staring at his brother in amazement. " I wasn't the one who jumped from the second floor balcony onto the Palace guard. I wasn't the one who stole the chocolate cake from under the Cook's nose. And I wasn't the one who hid in the doorway and frightened that poor little badger into a fit!"

" Well, you jolly well should have been," smirked Edmund. " It was fun."

This unrepentant attitude displayed by his younger brother caused the High King, in a moment of most unkingly behaviour, to jump onto the table and pelt said younger brother with figs. Chaos ensued.

" Peter - Peter, stop!" laughed Edmund, after a particularly well-aimed fig found its mark. " I surrender - I surrender!"

" Very well then." Peter clambered off the table and sat back down in his chair. He stared unhappily at the squashed remains of a once splendid breakfast.

" Well, this is a fine to do," he said, picking up a flattened roll. " What do we do for breakfast now?"

" I'm full," a cheeky Edmund piped up. " I couldn't eat another fig."

" No," said Peter darkly, " you couldn't _eat_ another fig, but I wonder if I could force it down your throat."

Edmund snickered.

" Well, I could ask the Cook for some more things," said Lucy.

" Brilliant, Lu. I'll come with you."

" No, Ed," said Lucy. " Don't you know that the Cook has banished you from her kitchen? That chocolate cake you sto- _borrowed_, was her pride and joy."

Edmund sat down grumbling. His fall from favour with the Cook sat heavily on his mind. His exile from Happiness, as he called it, would have to be fixed before he died of hunger.

" I'll go with you, Lu," said Peter, with a teasing grin at his crestfallen brother.

Edmund frowned.

The oldest and the youngest Pevensie departed.

* * *

Thus it fell out that Susan, finally finding the courage to enter the dining room, was greeted by the gloomy, pensive face of her little brother.

" Hullo, Ed," she squeaked, her hand moving to her nose. " Where's Peter and Lucy?"

" They're basking in the light of the pantry," groaned Edmund, slumping into his chair.

" What?"

" Getting something to eat."

"Oh."

" What's wrong, Su?" asked Edmund suddenly, brightening perceptibly and sitting up in his chair. " Why are you covering your nose?"

" Oh, no reason. How long have they been gone?"

" Twenty minutes, give or take a year. What's wrong with your nose?"

Susan flushed and gave her brother a death glare.

" Nothing's wrong with my nose," she said.

" Then why are you hiding it?"

" I'm not hiding it."

" Then take your hand away."

" Since when has my nose been any of your concern, Edmund?" Susan asked coldly.

" Since you became so obsessed with hiding it," Edmund quickly replied.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and, at that moment, Susan wished it would kill Edmund.

" I'm not obsessed," she countered hotly.

How long this useless and repetitive argument went on, none could say. Let us then skip to the moment when Peter and Lucy made their appearance, their arms laden with food.

" Hullo, Susan," said Peter, setting his loot on the long table. " What's wrong?"

" Nothing's wrong, Peter," an exasperated Susan said, trying to keep her tone light. " Let's eat. I'm starving."

She moved to the table, sat down gracefully, and picked up a napkin.

True to form, Edmund burst out laughing.

" Look at your nose," he cried, rocking on his chair. " It's red as a tomato and twice as big. Ha ha!"

" Oh, do shut up," hissed Susan.

" It's red as a cherry. It's red as - OW!"

Peter's foot had shot out and kicked Edmund's already tottering chair. The young boy landed on his back.

Now it was Susan's turn to laugh.

" Not fair, Peter," said Edmund, from his position on the floor.

" It is when you tease Susan," Peter retorted. " Apologise."

" I'm sorry," said Edmund with twinkling eyes. " I'm sorry that your nose is -"

"Ed!"

" I'm sorry.

* * *

Nothing more was said after that. Indeed, Susan's nose returned to normal in a couple of days. Two years after this, however, a frantic Edmund darted from his chambers.

" Look at my nose!" he cried, pointing to a large, red bump on that feature.

Peter and Lucy gasped. Susan sniggered.

Revenge is always sweet. However belated it may be.


	5. Go Back to Bed!

**AN:** I'll let you be the judge on whether you like this chapter or not. Let's just say that I was suffering from an acute case of writer's block.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. It belongs to a genius who is probably rolling in his grave.

* * *

With her head on the table, and her hand in the sugar pot, Lucy was trying to wake up sufficiently to yell at her brother. Said brother, known to some as the Just, was grinning mischievously from the other end of the table. He looked bright and cheerful. Disgustingly cheerful, in Lucy's opinion, and was drumming a merry tune on the table-cloth.

" 'Wake yet, Lu?" he asked.

" No. Do you know what time it is?" was the snappish reply, as Lucy raised her head to stare at her brother.

" Somewhere in the region of four in the morning," proffered Edmund.

" Exactly! What insane person drags their younger sister to the breakfast table at four in the morning?" cried Lucy, blinking bleary eyes. " I'm going back to bed."

Edmund sniffed. " Don't you know what day it is?"

" If it isn't brother-extermination day, I'm not interested." Lucy was not in a good mood, at all. She got to her feet and staggered from the room, muttering something Edmund was sure Susan would not approve of. The massive door slammed with a bang.

Left alone, Edmund stared dolefully into his porridge. He twirled his butter knife and sighed deeply. He leant on his elbow and tried to think. Inspiration came in a flash. Rising from his chair, he ran from the room.

" Susan! Suuuusan! Wake up!"

Susan, her normal poise shattered, started up at Edmund's shriek and promptly tumbled off the bed.

_Crack!_

The sound of Royal head hitting Royal floor echoed through the room.

" Edmund Pevensie!"

Edmund cringed unintentionally and went into defence mode. Crouching on the floor, his hands splayed over his head, he waited with undaunted courage for Susan's customary tirade on the importance of eight hours sleep.

Silence.

Rising cautiously, Edmund peered around the end of the bed and frowned. Susan was asleep. This really wasn't fair - at all. If he was wakeful, Susan should be wakeful. It was the natural order of things.

Edmund slunk round to the other side of the bed and poked his sister in the arm. A quiet snore was the only answer he received. He poked again - harder, this time. A disgruntled snort was his reward. Edmund set his teeth and gave his sister's hair a light pull.

" Suuusan," he whispered in her ear.

Susan's eyes shot open. She was angry - _very_ angry. Grabbing her brother by the scruff of his neck she hauled him out into the hall and dumped him against the wall.

" Go back to bed!" she shouted, as she bolted her bedroom door.

* * *

Recovering sufficiently from the shock of Susan's new-found strength, Edmund sauntered down the hall towards Peter's bedroom door. It was four-thirty now. There was no reason in Narnia why Peter should be in bed. He knocked briskly on the High King's door.

A familiar sound greeted him. Namely, the sound of silence.

" Peter," Edmund hissed, pushing the door open with his toes. " Peter! Wake up."

It was dark in the room and, as Edmund stumbled forward, he tripped over a low table and knocked something to the floor. Peter's snores stopped. Grumbling softly, a disgruntled Edmund got to his feet and felt around for a candle. He found one and lit a match. The match burnt out and Edmund grumbled, louder this time, about dratted elder brothers and drafty chambers. A second match was lit. It fell promptly to the ground.

A long, glistening sword was pressed to a startled Edmund's throat. Blinking painfully, the young King tried to see who his attacker was. He sighed in relief.

" Peter."

Peter, leaning forward so that his nose almost touched Edmund's, peered into his brother's face with squinted eyes.

" Edmund? What in the blazes are you doing here?"

" I'm playing blind-man's bluff with Orieus," was the sarcastic answer, as Edmund pushed the sword from his throat.

" Ha ha, very funny. Come on, Ed. I know that's not the reason."

" Well," admitted Edmund, lurching to his feet (he never knew how close he was to nicking his arm on Rhindon). " I came to see if you wanted to get up now. It's a beautiful morning."

" Ed. It's still dark."

" That's beside the point," said Edmund airily. " It could be a what-you-may-call-it. You know, when the sun doesn't shine."

" An eclipse?"

" Yes."

" Ed, it can't be five o' clock yet."

" Early to be, early to rise," quoth Edmund merrily.

" I went to bed late," said Peter.

" Oh, come on, Peter," a frustrated Edmund exclaimed. " You know you want to get up."

" No, Ed," Peter said firmly. " I'm going back to bed. You know how important eight hours is when you - "

" Oh, don't give me the Susan speech," Edmund interrupted rudely, before turning on his heel and storming out. Peter, with a small, bewildered grin, threw himself back into his bed. He fell asleep instantly.

Meanwhile, a wrathful Edmund paced the halls of Cair Paravel. Selfish siblings was uppermost in his mind. Silently bewailing the lack of pockets in his night-shirt, he folded his arms and tried to make his steps loud and heavy. They became heavier and heavier without his knowledge, and soon he fell to the ground, fast asleep.

* * *

Peter, Susan and Lucy found him there several hours later, at a more earthly time. They smiled fondly.

" Do you think he'll ever stop doing this?" Susan asked, kneeling by his side and smoothing the hair from his eyes.

" Nup," Peter snorted. " Not 'til he's old and grey."

" It is cute that he's so excited about his birthday," Lucy cooed, kneeling beside her sister. " If only he'd wait until we were all more awake and less grumpy."

" I'll carry him to his bed," Peter said abruptly, scooping his younger brother into his arms. " Susan, will you get the door?"

" Of course."

And, while Susan prepared a frilly ball sure to disgust him, the birthday boy slept soundly, dreaming of how he would annoy his siblings next year.


	6. Of Ink and Skin Diseases

**An:** I'm thinking that this will probably be the second last chapter of Peter, Magnificent One, and Edmund the Dazed. Interest seems to be waning, and I'm not sure if my heart is in it anymore. ( I'm kinda on the down side at the moment and can't seem to write anything humorous). My thanks go to all those who have so kindly reviewed. You guys (and girls) are great!

And yes, this is another chapter revolving around Susan's face. The temptation was just too strong. :)

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. It all belongs to Lewis.

* * *

Susan was slumped - yes, _slumped_ - in her throne, staring in slight bewilderment at the little man before her, who was gesticulating wildly. Peter, Edmund, and Lucy, sitting rigidly in their respective thrones, stared solemnly at the floor, trying to hide the glee they felt at their sister's embarrassment.

" Oh, Majesty," the little man said, falling to one knee, " the fame of your beauty has spread far. Now that I see your loveliness, I know that you have captured my heart. Your eyes, which sparkle like the morning dew, are so lovely, so tender, so kind, that I know I will remember them always as a beacon with which to guide my life."

Peter smirked. Edmund sniggered. Lucy giggled. The man continued, unabashed.

" Fair Damsel, your nose is like-"

_Great, _thought Susan sarcastically. _Now he's complimenting my nose._

" Like the petal of a lily just opened to the sun."

_Is it my fault if it's a little sunburnt_ ?

" Like a pearl faintly tinted with the faint blush of a rose. Like a snowflake that has felt the gentle touch of fire."

_Poetic words and I'm sure they're meant to be flattering. I just wish he'd make more sense._

_" _Your lips, Oh Queen, are - "

The poor noble got no further. At the mention of Susan's lips, Peter started violently from his throne, bounded from the dais, seized the unhappy man by the scruff of his neck and dragged him from the room.

Edmund sniggered again.

" That's one way to dismiss a suitor," he said. " Is that the fifth or sixth time he's done it this week?"

" Seventh," groaned Susan, slumping even further into her throne. " I know they're a hassle, but he could at least let them finish."

" Well, you know Peter," comforted Lucy, putting an arm around her sister. " Once they mention anything he deems inappropriate, out they go. He's just looking out for you, Su."

" I know, but does he always have to be so overprotective?" Susan asked, rather rebelliously.

Before anyone could answer, Peter returned. He looked unabashedly pleased with himself.

" We won't be seeing him again," he chortled, straightening his crown which had slipped during the tussle.

" Peter," said Susan coldly, rising from her throne. " That wasn't kingly behaviour. You shouldn't have thrown him out. He didn't say anything."

" He was about to," countered Peter. " Slimy, horrible creature. I would have given him something to complain about if he said any more."

" Peter, " Susan began, then stopped, realising that she wasn't going to get anywhere with her stubborn brother. " Can you please let me handle my suitors?"

" And why should you be having any suitors in the first place?" Peter asked, ignoring the angry glance shot his way. " You're _fourteen_, for goodness sake!"

" It's different here, Peter!"

" I do hope you're not planning on getting married!" exclaimed her brother.

" Would it be any of your concern if I was?"

" Susan, as High King _and_ your brother it would most definitely be my concern!"

" Peter! Why can't you let me handle it?"

" Because you can't!"

" I can, Peter!"

" You can't!"

Lucy and Edmund rose from their thrones and quietly left the room. If their older siblings were going to start throwing vases (again), they wanted no part of it. On silent feet, the two monarchs pattered into Edmund's study.

" Isn't it awful," Lucy said, collapsing into a chair. " I wish they'd stop this bickering. _We_ never bicker!"

" No," said Edmund loftily. " We _never_ bicker. Of course, there was the incident of the bacon you stole from under my nose last week. But that couldn't be called bickering. That was _squabbling_."

" Oh, yes," laughed Lucy. " And don't forget about the - er - _quarrel_ we had last Tuesday. You know, the one about who splattered Peter with paint. I'm still positive it came from your brush."

" Pink is not Peter's colour," said Edmund, with a sly grin.

" And there was the _disagreement _over who had pulled the hairs from Orieus' tail," Lucy continued.

" Six hairs," said Edmund, with another grin. " But I tell you - it wasn't me!"

" But," said Lucy, returning to the matter at hand, " we do not bicker!"

" Shocking, isn't it?" said Edmund. " Peter and Susan should be setting us an example."

_Crash!_

" There goes another vase," he added.

Lucy rose from her chair and slammed the door. Returning to her chair, she placed her head in her hands and gazed thoughtfully at her brother.

" Edmund," she said, after a considerable pause had elapsed. " What should we do?"

" Do?" Edmund asked, puzzled. " Nothing. They're just fighting."

" No, no," said Lucy, leaning forward conspiratorially. " I meant about the suitors."

" Oh." The monosyllable was eloquent. Two heads, black and brown, came together. The sound of whispering and, sad to say, snickering filled the air.

" Do you think it will work?" Lucy said, when the whispering had stopped.

" Definitely," Edmund said, with a look of glee. He cracked his knuckles happily. "You just watch."

* * *

Dinner was a silent affair. Peter and Susan were not on speaking terms and spent the majority of their time either staring into their soup, or casting puzzled glances at the mirthful faces of their younger siblings.

" What's wrong with you?" A suspicious Susan asked.

" Nothing," was the oh-too-innocent reply. Edmund excused himself soon after and strode - ran - to his chambers. Lucy, after waiting five minutes, followed his example.

" What's wrong with them?" Susan asked, breaking her self-imposed vow never to speak to Peter again.

" I don't know," answered Peter thoughtfully, glad that his sister had recovered from her mood. " They've been acting strangely all evening."

" What have they been doing?"

" Oh, you know. Whispering, giggling. They said they were planning something."

" Oh? Like what?"

" A surprise," said gullible Peter.

Susan, although still suspicious, let the matter drop.

* * *

Let us now turn to Edmund and Lucy, who are in the Just king's study, looking for a bottle of ink. Red ink.

" It has to be here somewhere," Edmund exclaimed. " I'll keep looking. Why don't you go to Su's room and - you know."

" Alright!" Lucy said, turning on her heel. " Is there a new batch of suitors coming?" she added.

" Yes. They'll be here bright and early. Now go!"

" Very well." Lucy darted from the room, closing the door carefully behind her.

She ran down the passage and tried Susan's door. Darn it - locked. Reaching into her left braid she pulled out a hair-pin.

Click. The door swung open.

Stumbling slightly in the darkness, Lucy found what she was looking for and lifted it off the wall. Stumbling again, this time under the object's weight, she staggered from the room and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her into her own chamber. Thank goodness it wasn't very far!

She placed the object in her cupboard and draped a dress over it. Breathing hard and feeling rather wicked, she collapsed onto the bed. Now, if Ed would only find that ink the plan would be set. The little queen dropped into sleep.

* * *

" Lucy! Lucy!" Susan's voice and quiet tapping sounded from the door. " Are you awake, dear?"

Lucy started up, her conscience pricking dreadfully. Daylight streamed in through her window. Biting her nether lip, she opened the door cautiously and - laughed.

" Wha - what is it, Susan?" Snicker. Snort.

" What's the matter with you?" Susan asked, staring at her sister as though she had grown two heads.

" No - nothing. What do you want?"

" You're wanted in the throne room. More of those suitors have arrived and Peter wants us all there. Edmund told me."

" Oh."

" Well, come on then. Get dressed." Susan said impatiently, ushering her sister back into her room. " I'll just use your mirror," she added. " I think my maid wanted to dust mine. It's missing."

" No, Susan!" exclaimed Lucy, panicking slightly. " You - you look fine!"

" I'd prefer seeing for myself, Lu."

" Don't you believe me?" quavered Lucy, sniffing slightly.

" What's gotten into you?"

" Nothing. Nothing. I just want to get dressed. Wait outside." Lucy pushed - yes, pushed - her sister from the room and sunk into a giggling heap at the door. Edmund had done his job well - perhaps a little too well. Lucy just hoped it would wash off.

Getting dressed quickly, the youngest queen joined her sister at the door. Together they swept into the throne room, Susan wondering all the while why the palace servants were looking at her so strangely. They seated themselves on their thrones and bowed to their brothers.

Peter gasped.

" Su!" he cried. " What have you - "

" Hush, Peter," a naughty Edmund hissed, nudging his brother in the ribs. " Here are the suitors."

The first suitor pressed forward, head lowered, his hand pressed to his heart. He fell to his knees in a humble form of obeisance and dared to lift his eyes to the divine countenance of the Gentle Queen.

" Oh Fair - " the words died on his lips as he stared at Susan with a sort of morbid fascination.

" Skin disease!" he shrieked, starting to his feet. Obviously the people in Narnia and beyond have no idea what acne is. He only saw the large, red spots covering Susan's face and went into panic mode. " Skin disease!" The other suitors took up the cry and dashed from the room.

" What?" A paling Susan cried, turning to her brother. " What are they talking about? "

" Your face, Su," Peter said. " It's covered in red spots. Are you having an allergic reaction? Is it -" he paused - " pimples?"

" Get me a mirror," Susan commanded a servant, who was staring in unconcealed astonishment at his queen.

The mirror procured, Susan stared at her reflection. Her face grew dark.

" Edmund. Lucy." The tone was dangerously low.

" Yes, Susan?" a subdued Edmund and Lucy asked meekly.

" I don't suppose you know how this happened?"

" Well, the suitors wouldn't let you alone," Edmund began.

" And this is your answer? They'll never come within a ten kilometre radius now!"

" Good," muttered Peter.

" Look at me," Susan continued, tearing up. " Look at my face! Does it wash off?"

Edmund gulped, realising the flaw in his master plan.

" Oh, Ed!"

Susan was inconsolable for the next week, refusing to see anyone - especially Lucy and Edmund. At the end of the week, however, a wise old woman (some say she was half dwarf) came by the castle with a host of medicines and cures. She cured the queens face, earning the eternal gratitude of that relieved damsel, and went on her way.

Edmund and Lucy's punishment was harsh (and deservedly so). Washing the Palace from dungeon to turret is not an enviable job, especially when the palace servants are having a day off. Ink was banned and a new lock was fitted to Susan's door - it was Lucy proof.

Susan did not receive any suitors for the next two years, until the rumours of skin disease had been replaced by tales of her beauty. Peter, for one, was glad of the respite, and spent that year polishing up his swordsmanship for the time when he would have to use it once more on unwanted and infatuated youths.

Life at Cair Paravel returned to normal - well, as normal as it can be with Lucy and Edmund within its walls.


	7. Bannisters and Broken Legs

**AN:** Ta da! The final chapter. I've got mixed feelings about this one. It went in a very different direction to how it was first planned. Ah well, let me know what you think of it. :)

I've been pondering this story and may take it out of its complete status if the muse strikes me again in the future. For now, however, enjoy.

A quick note to all my reviewers. You guys (and girls) are great and encouraged me in my writing. Thank you so much.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Lewis is king of the Chronicles.

* * *

It was irresistible. The downward slope. The smooth wood. Edmund grinned gleefully and swung one leg over the bannister.

"Edmund!"

Uh oh. Trapped.

Edmund swung his leg back over and, turning to his sister, fixed her with a gaze of beguiling innocence.

"Hullo, Lucy," he cooed.

"Edmund," Lucy's tone was skeptical. "Were you going to ride that bannister?"

"Whatever gave you that idea, you sweet child?" Edmund grinned. He gestured to the railing behind him and smiled even wider. "Come on, Lu. Susan's visiting the dryads. Peter's training with Orieus. No one can stop us!"

"What would Susan say?" Lucy asked.

"Susan isn't here," naughty Edmund sang.

"And the poor maids who'll - who'll - "

"Who'll what?"

"I don't know - won't they be mad?"

"No," grinned her brother. "They'll thank us for dusting the bannister for them."

"Won't the valets be angry about the dust we get on our clothes?"

"Lucy," Edmund said, voice firm. " Are you going to spend the rest of the day trying to dissuade me from my awful ways? Or are you going to have some fun?"

"Well, maybe just once," Lucy said, succumbing to temptation. She took the hand her brother offered and seated herself on the bannister. "But if Susan finds out - "

"Tsk tsk," laughed Edmund. "You little worry wart."

"Not a worry wart," Lucy hissed, pushing with her feet. She sped down the railing and landed on her feet at the bottom.

"Clear the way, Lu," Edmund yelled down, motioning for her to get out of the way. Lucy complied.

Whoosh.

Edmund landed on his, erhem, royal tush. Lucy laughed loudly.

"Ha ha, Ed," she cried, helping him to his feet. " That's means I win."

"No, it doesn't," Edmund said. "That was only the first try."

"Play fair, Ed," a voice said, from the extreme end of the hall. Lucy and Edmund turned rapidly.

"Peter!" cried a delighted Lucy.

"Sneak!" exclaimed a not-so-enthusiastic Edmund.

"Hello, Lu. Not a sneak," Peter replied quickly, with a smile for his sister and a frown for his brother.

"Then why were you spying on us, High King?"

"Wasn't spying," Peter said, languidly. "I was bored and decided to see what you two little devils -"

"Peter," exclaimed Edmund, mimicking Susan's tone. "Language!"

"Little angels," Peter corrected himself, "were doing."

"Well, now that you know what we're doing," Edmund said. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," said Peter, with a wide grin. "I'm only going to tell you two to clear the way and let your big brother have some fun for once."

Picking Lucy bodily off the bannister, Peter positioned himself and sped down, knocking his crown off on the way. Edmund watched approvingly.

"That's what I like to see," he grinned. "A High King having fun without thought of any consequence."

"All our actions have consequences, Ed," Peter said, reverting back to older brother mode.

"Well, just don't think about them then," said Edmund, clambering once more onto the rail. "Right now, I just want to have fun. I don't want to think of what Susan will say when she sees our dishevelled appearances."

"You'll have to face her eventually," laughed Lucy.

"I told you I didn't want to think about it," shouted Edmund, getting ready to slide.

"Edmund!"

Edmund wobbled at the sound of the voice, lost his balance, and fell from the wrong side of the bannister. He landed with a rather horrid _thud!_ on the marble floor.

"Edmund!" the same voice cried.

"Susan!" Edmund cried, his tone a mixture of surprise, anger, and pain. "Why did you have to creep up on a fellow like that?"

"She wasn't exactly creeping," said Lucy, watching her brother in concern. "Are you alright, Ed? You look awful."

Lucy got the strange feeling that she had said that line somewhere once before.

"Well, she didn't need to screech like that," huffed Edmund. He tried to get to his feet, but stumbled back with a cry of pain. "And to answer your question," he continued, in a surprisingly calm voice. "No, I'm not alright. I think my leg is broken."

"I'll get my cordial," Lucy said.

"No," exclaimed Susan, a glint akin to mischief shining in her eyes. "We don't want to waste your cordial. If Ed's leg is broken, it's his own fault. I've told him time and time again not to do it."

"And why should I listen to you, you cold, unfeeling, horrid -" Edmund began.

"She does have a point," Peter cut in.

Of all the traitorous brothers!

"You were sliding yourself," Edmund exclaimed, in just outrage. "You should be the one with a broken leg, not me. You're the oldest. Lu, get your cordial!"

"Lucy, stay!" Susan boomed.

"Lucy, go!" Edmund shouted.

"Lucy has her own mind," cried Lucy, "and is not a dog."

"Sorry," said Edmund sweetly. "Please, Lu, may I use your cordial?"

"I do think it's unfair on him to suffer so," said Lucy. A small, piteous tear leaked from Edmund's eye. "After all, broken legs are very painful."

Edmund let out a sob for effect.

"Look at him," Lucy continued. "Look at the way his leg is bent. What kind of a brother and sister wants to see their little brother suffer so?"

Edmund looked up at Susan and Peter and let out a small moan of pain. Tears fell from his brown eyes and splashed onto his nose. He truly was a pathetic sight.

Peter and Susan's hearts melted.

"Well, maybe just this once," Susan conceded. "And only if he promises to never let me catch him on the bannister again."

"Of course, Susan," said honest Edmund. "You'll never _catch_ me on the bannister." He winked at Lucy, who giggled slightly and ran to fetch her cordial.

* * *

Later that day, in Lucy's room, a newly healed Edmund and a little queen discussed the day's events.

"You really did over do it a bit, Ed," said Lucy. "I'm just surprised that they fell for it. Your moaning and groaning was too obvious."

"Well, how was I supposed to do it?" snapped Edmund, flexing his leg.

"You sniff a little, widen your eyes, and then let them fill with tears. It works every time."

"Well, you're cuter than I am."

"Thank you, Ed."

Edmund got to his feet and hobbled around. Although healed, his leg was still rather stiff. "Do you think Susan and Peter would have made me live with a broken leg?" he asked, coming to rest in a large armchair.

"Of course not," Lucy assured him. "They were just being stubborn."

The door burst open, and a livid Susan glared at her little brother.

"Edmund," she exclaimed. "Do you care to explain why my best dress is covered in white paint?"

"Little accident with a paint bottle," said Edmund meekly.

"In my closet?"

"Well, I - uh," Edmund stuttered, scrambling for an answer. " I was painting the view in your room and the closet door was open and I - uh -"

"Don't lie, Ed."

Edmund was saved the pain of replying, for the door opened and a stiff-legged Peter hobbled into the room.

"Did you put starch in my washing - again!" he exclaimed, glaring at a shrinking Edmund.

Edmund started to his feet and ran from the room, his leg no longer stiff. Susan dashed after him, her nostrils flaring angrily, while Peter brought up the rear, clattering along as fast as his starched tights would allow him.

Left alone, Lucy gazed at the open door and chuckled slightly.

"I don't know, Ed," she said to herself. "Maybe Peter and Susan weren't being stubborn, after all. I'm beginning to think that they'd like both your legs to be broken."

The sound of water splashing came to the young girl's ears, as Susan and Peter dished out some long overdue justice.

* * *


	8. Stirring Solos and Flying Tubas

**AN:** So I finally got around to opening this fic again. ::sheepish grin:: It was, honestly, a blast to write. Of course, I didn't escape the OOC bug. Yeah... but it isn't really a serious fic, so I'm hoping you like it anyway. Enough talking... on to the story!

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'll love you a lot if you review... please?

**Disclaimer:** No, don't own it yet.

* * *

"La, la, la, li –"

Susan Pevensie, Gentle Queen of Narnia, lifted her head from her recreational table with a melodramatic sigh. For the fifty-eighth time that day Edmund's boyish tenor was echoing through the castle. It would have been beautiful, really, and Susan would have enjoyed listening to it, if Edmund's voice hadn't been in the stage of breaking. Every fourth note wavered and broke, causing a certain Gentle Queen (who wasn't feeling quite so gentle) to bang her head against her table repeatedly.

"Why me?" was the plaintive whine.

"La, la, la, LI!"

Doors, walls, and closets (which Susan had pushed across the four-inch thick door) proved to be of no avail against the ear-splitting sound of Edmund failing to reach that last note. Peter, huddling on his bed with the pillow over his ears, was not immune to the sound, either. He was seriously contemplating passing a decree banning every human child under thirteen from singing.

"La...la...la...LI!"

Susan had had enough!

Thrusting open the door with almost super-human strength, the irate Queen dashed into the hall and pounded upon her little brother's thick door.

"Edmund Pevensie!" she roared, dimly realising that maybe she was overreacting just a little bit.

"The Just," a voice, not entirely devoid of mischief, squeaked from within.

Susan, breathing heavily, regained her composure and knocked almost primly once more. "Edmund," she said, "can I talk to you?"

The hinges creaked loudly as Edmund pulled the heavy door open. "Yes," he said, with a wide grin, "of course you can. What do you want?"

"For you to shut up," was the oh-so-blunt response.

Edmund's face fell and his almond eyes became round. "What?" he cried, followed quickly by a whined: "Why?"

"Edmund," said Susan, becoming surprisingly diplomatic and calm, "nobody has been able to think straight ever since you started that -" Susan stopped herself from saying _infernal_ just in time - "lovely singing," she finished, lamely. Queens (especially gentle ones) do not use words like infernal. It was an unspoken rule.

"But Susan," Edmund said, even more diplomatically with an innocent smile, "if it's so lovely why does it bother you? I'm not singing loudly."

Susan made a mental note to get Edmund's hearing checked as soon as possible. "Oh, it's loud, Ed," she assured him.

"But you said it was lovely," Edmund chirped.

Susan momentarily cursed her inability to replace infernal with a word of equal impact. Now she would have to backtrack.

"What I mean to say is that," a pause, as Susan carefully considered her words. Edmund, at such a young age, was surprisingly clever at analysing simple sentences and twisting them to his advantage. He would have made a wonderful politician. " Is that even lovely things lose their charm when used too much," she finished, with a proud smile. There. How was Edmund going to get out of that?

Edmund's cheeks turned a light shade of pink at the compliment. "You think my voice is that lovely, Susan?" he beamed.

Susan nodded dumbly.

"Then I can hardly keep you from enjoying something you enjoy so much, now can I?" continued Edmund, completely ignoring the part about losing charm.

Susan rubbed her forehead in a frustrated motion. "I'll live," she said dully.

"I wouldn't dream of depriving you," said Edmund, with a casual wave of his hand. The motion distracted his sister from the look of undiluted mischief that lurked in his dark eyes. "Listen to this."

Ignoring the sound of panic that gurgled from Susan's throat, Edmund skipped (yes, you read that right, _skipped_) back into his chambers and motioned to a chair in the corner. "Sit down, Su. I want you to hear – first hand – my solos."

"Solo....s?" Susan said, gazing in horror at the sheets of music that littered her brother's floor. Since when had he learned to read music? The fortnight he had spent on the tuba back in Finchley hardly counted, as he had spent the majority of that time experimenting how many times their mother would yell at him before she snapped and threw the tuba out the window. Yes, that hardly counted. (And, for the record, Mrs. Pevensie snapped the sixty-fourth time when Edmund blew it down the chimney. How he was able to climb up to the roof will never be known).

"Yes, solos," Edmund said, with a casual wave of his hand.

Susan had barely enough time to ponder on this sudden interest in music, before Edmund launched into a touching, if slightly off-key, rendition of "The Fauns Lament".

Susan was speechless.

Edmund smiled.

"Where did you learn to sing like that?" Susan finally murmured.

"Orieus is a fantastic singer, believe it or not," said Edmund with a casual shrug.

For the second time that day, Susan was speechless. Orieus? Singer? Okay, so maybe singer wasn't so unbelievable, but _fantastic_ singer?

"Impossible," she said flatly.

Edmund simply shrugged, flashed her a smug, superior smile that practically shouted: "I know better! Ha!" and sat down on a low stool.

A moments pause, in which Susan tried to gather her scattered thoughts. And then it began again.

"La, la, la, LI!"

Susan hands reached automatically for her ears. "Why do you do that, Edmund?" she groaned. "Why?"

"It conditions the voice," was the matter-of-fact answer, "so that I can reach higher notes even when my voice has broken. It's also... fun."

"Fun?"

Edmund laughed sheepishly. "I guess it has something to do with cause and reaction. I like getting a reaction."

Susan decided to let the matter drop, and ended the conversation with a well-aimed clout to the side of her brother's head.

"Yeah... reaction..." Edmund said, somewhat dazedly, looking up at his sister with clouded eyes.

He wasn't so fond of _violent_ reactions.

* * *

It was later that same day and three of the Pevensie siblings were in Peter's study. Susan and Peter were on the floor, playing chess and shooting each other death glares.

"Peter, stop cheating."

Peter humphed and sat up straighter. "How do you cheat in chess?" he asked, folding his arms.

"You keep moving the pieces when I'm distracted."

"Paranoid," Peter murmured.

"Cheater," was the sharp response. "I would have thought you, being High King, would be above such things."

"Your turn," said Peter sweetly, shifting the board slightly. He looked over at the only other Pevensie sibling, who was sitting sideways in a small armchair.

"Lucy," he said, gaining the young girl's attention, "can you come over here and convince Susan that I'm not cheating?"

Lucy rose from the armchair, placed her book on the floor, and shuffled over to the chess-board. She gazed critically at the game before dropping to her knees. "Okay," she said, folding her hands in her lap.

The game progressed quietly enough. Twice did Lucy raise her hand warningly, when Peter committed some suspicious move. And twice did Peter comment on the paranoid nature of both his sisters.

"Really," he grumbled, pressing Susan's queen into a corner, "if I was going to cheat I would be a lot more sneaky."

"We're not taking any chances," said Susan, simultaneously moving her queen out of the way and checking her brother's king.

"Paranoid," said Peter again, moving his castle.

Susan, on the point of check-mating her brother, was stopped by a loud sound.

"La, la, la..." rang through the castle, causing Susan to cover her ears in horror. Peter followed suit, somehow managing, in his dash to protect his ears, to knock the chess pieces to the ground.

"La, la, la ..." there it was again. Peter, Susan, and Lucy waited breathlessly for that final cracked note... that never came.

"LAAAAAAAA!" The final note was loud, but at least it was in tune. Susan smiled. It would seem that Edmund's voice had finally stopped cracking.

"What are you all doing?" At the sound of the puzzled voice, the royal siblings turned. There was Edmund, his expression smug and his eyebrows raised.

Susan ignored the question in favour of releasing her ears and getting to her feet.

"Your voice stopped cracking," she said enthusiastically.

The eyebrows went higher. "That wasn't me," said Edmund bluntly.

Peter, on the point of demanding who the dickens was making that noise, was stopped by a sight that rendered all the siblings (except Edmund) speechless. With the door opened, they had a first rate view of one of the many halls in Cair Paravel. In the centre of the hall, surrounded by adoring dryads, loud fauns, and giddy, young centaurs, was a proud looking Orieus. He would have looked rather imposing, really, if he hadn't of had a garland of flowers around his neck and a silver harp in his arms. Peter's jaw swung open.

"He told me that he had something very important to do!" the High King fumed.

"This is... important," said Lucy, peeking from behind her brother's arm, "I think."

"I never would have believed it," said Susan dazedly. "Orieus. Of all people."

Edmund said nothing, but the glint in his eye clearly said: "Told you so."

As Orieus began singing a stirring ballad, the Pevensie siblings staggered away from the rather disturbing sight of Orieus dancing to the slow beat of the music. They slammed the heavy door shut and returned to their (now destroyed) game.

"I'm sorry that you haven't reached that note yet, Ed," said Susan sincerely.

Edmund smiled. "I don't really mind," he said, rocking on his ankles. "Besides, I've found something else to occupy myself."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm getting a tuba made."

And, while Susan had a mental flashback to Edmund's last tuba experience, Peter and Lucy exchanged amused glances.

"I wonder," whispered Lucy, "how long it will be before _Susan_ throws the tuba out the window..."

Seeing Susan's face, Peter could only chuckle and whisper in return: "Not long, Lu. Not long."

Peter's prediction proved correct exactly forty-eight hours after the tuba fell into Edmund's possession. Susan did, indeed, throw the instrument from the highest window in Cair Paravel. It landed around the neck of a young talking rabbit, who, from that day forth, was convinced that tubas fell from the sky.

Edmund went back to singing... and Susan was left wondering if _he_ would survive a trip out the window.

He did.

It didn't stop him from singing.

* * *

**AN:** Yeah, throwing Ed out the window was a bit extreme. Hehe, I just couldn't resist. I seem to be falling into the habit of torturing Orieus. He does not appreciate it. Anyway, if you feel so inclined, drop a review so I can judge whether or not to churn out a few more chapters. Thanks! ^^


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